


Nightgown

by HeroMaggie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders in a nightgown, Do there need to be more tags than that?, Gen, Silliness happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders receives a nightgown as a gift for saving a young man - and decides it's too comfortable to pass up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightgown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaverikLoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverikLoki/gifts).



> This could have gone smutty. I just didn't write that next part. I may write that. Later. Maybe.
> 
> We'll see.

Healing poured from him, as it had all day, in a rush of cool, watery blue. The blue spread, trickled, ran over the young man lying motionless on the cot. It surged through his skin to the bloody tears hiding inside and re-knit bone and muscle and organ until the boy took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. Anders smiled down into the young man's face and submerged him in more healing, giving until the young man's breathing evened out and every last injury had been healed.

***

  
“I ain't got nothin else, 'ealer. I'm sorry. But that was some 'ealin you did. My boy, 'e was dying, e' was. And not even the Maker 'imself woulda saved 'em.” The woman could charitably be called “older.” The word crone might have flitted about Anders' befuddled brain. She was waving what appeared to be a curtain at him, a wide swath of cloth that fluttered in the dank Darktown air. “Take it. It was 'is mum's. She died, bless her soul.”

Anders tried to tell his patients that he ran a free clinic. That donations were always welcome – preferably in the form of food, small coin, or herbs. But on occasion, he would save somebody's life and a family member would show up with a beloved trinket or a household item. So far he had accumulated three pots, two kettles, a very nice blanket, a doll, three pairs of slippers – none that fit, and now this giant piece of cloth. He never got rid of these gifts, seeing them for what they really were – the only thanks the dirt poor could offer. So he took the cloth and showed the woman and her son out. Maybe he could hang it up in the window in his little cubby.

The cloth turned out to be a nightgown. One of those billowy ones worn by young women that covered them from neck to toes. It was muslin and a pretty decent quality muslin at that. The entire cloth was hand-stitched with tiny purple and blue flowers. The front was pleated with tiny pin-tucks, each lined with a pale yellow ribbon. Slightly fraying lace was stitched at the base of the pleats. A ruffle adorned the hem. Anders held it up and, Andraste help him, thought it was rather pretty. And comfortable looking.

And he hadn't had a nightshirt in years. Nobody had to know he slept in it. He could throw his coat on over it, should an emergency come in.

He didn't think twice about it, blowing out the lantern with a sigh of deep relief. That young man had taken almost all of his mana and he was feeling sharp inside, just this side of empty. Ignoring the instinctual pull of Justice, at least this time, he closed up the clinic and prepared a bath – a much needed bath. A handful of herbs into some steaming water and he slipped in to soak and scrub himself.

He didn't want to get the nightgown dirty.

Cleaned, hair rubbed dry and brushed, he dumped his dirty clothing in the water and scrubbed it. Then hung the entire lot up on a strung-up line between two pillars. A little bit of tidying and he deemed it safe to put on the nightgown. No potions needed to be brewed, no puddles needed to be mopped. He was clean, the nightgown fit – and he wasn't going to think about how much weight he had had to lose to make it fit – and he thought he might actually be able to sleep tonight.

A final look around the clinic and he took himself to his little cubby, trimmed the wick on the bedside lantern, and slid under the covers. A good wiggle, a bit of pillow fluffing, and he was drifting off to sleep.

To be woken up by the banging of a fist on the door. Of course there was a fist banging on the door. Maker take whomever decided to get ill or injured in the dark of night. Anders floundered out from under his blankets and staggered out of his cubby. “I'm coming!” He yelled, muttering something unintelligible but very vulgar under his breath. The banging grew louder and he groaned, “I said I'm coming, quit it!”

Anders threw open the door to the clinic, forgetting in his ire about the nightgown, and came face-to-face with Hawke. Hawke had pulled back his rather large fist to bang on the door again, stopping when Anders came into view. There was a moment of silence as Hawke's eyes trailed down Ander's nightgown. There was a cough from behind Hawke, a clearing of throats slightly farther down.

“That's a lovely negligee, Blondie,” Varric said on another cough. “Fetching, in fact. The little flowers really go well with your hair.”

Anders closed his eyes in mortification.

“Are you...barefoot?” Hawke was gazing at Anders' toes, his slightly nobby toes, with great fascination. “Your nightie has a ruffle...” his voice was clearly filled with disbelief.

Anders strained his eyes to look behind Hawke and then covered his face. Fenris stood just beyond Hawke's left shoulder, his face set so still that he had to be holding back either laughter or a comment. Anders met Fenris' eyes and Fenris let out one cough before his face smoothed back out.

“Hawke,” resignation filled Anders' voice, “What do you need?”

“We have a job! I need my healer!” Hawke was grinning now. “But I find a beautiful damsel in his stead. Tell me, my beauty, have you seen a scruffy blond man? Tall, slender...of a fair countenance?”

Varric snorted he laughed so hard. Fenris turned around, his shoulders shaking. “I am going to kill you, Hawke,” Anders gritted out.

“I believe we have wounded her feelings!” Hawke said on a laugh. “I'm sorry Anders. It's just...you look lovely.”

“It was a gift,” muttered Anders. “From a patient. I couldn't say no.”

“And you decided to wear the gown?” Fenris' voice was a rough rumble.

“I was able to do my laundry, if you must know.” Anders straightened, his back going stiff. “If you will give me a moment, I'll get changed.”

There was a trio of snickering as Anders closed the door, Hawke giving in to the urge to laugh. Anders sighed and smoothed his hand down his nightgown. His face scrunched up into annoyance as Hawke's guffaws filtered through the door. He kicked the door and stomped off to change.

***

  
The Wounded Coast was not where Anders wanted to be. He wanted to be back in his cubby, in his bed, in his nightgown. Instead he was tromping through the underbrush, smalls still damp from the scrubbing, following three men who giggled a little every time they looked at him. After the fourth giggle, he had had enough.

“I don't see what the big deal is,” Anders groused. “It's like a nightshirt. Only more comfortable.”

“More comfortable? More like prettier.” Hawke prodded. “I didn't realize Justice allowed you to wear lace.”

“Justice knew it was a heartfelt gift for saving a life. And I knew it was a pair of clothing that didn't have a hole in it.” Anders bit out. “And if you're going to make fun of me, I'm going to go home.”

“Alright, alright. We're sorry Blondie.” Varric said, holding up his hands in surrender. “It was just some friendly teasing.”

“Hmph,” was Anders response.

The group continued down the path, now quiet. Fenris dropped back to walk next to Anders, his eyes darting over to take in the healer. After a few minutes, Anders sighed, “Here to poke at me too?”

“I do not poke at you,” Fenris said, his voice quiet.

“Then what did you need?” Anders kicked a rock from the path, his eyes down on his feet.

“If you require clothing to wear of an evening, I believe there is a dressing gown at the mansion that will go with that nightgown you own.” Fenris kept his eyes straight ahead, his tone even. “If you so wish it.”

Anders opened his mouth to refuse and then closed it, pondering the possibilities. “Does it have ribbon on it?”

“And a matching cap,” Fenris said with a nod.

Anders glanced over at him and then back down to his feet, “I'll be by after this to get it.”

“And Anders?” Anders looked up at the use of his name, his eyes landing on the small smile gracing Fenris' lips, “The next time you answer the door in your nightgown, you may wish to wear the dressing gown over it. Muslin is sheer when backlit. I did not realize your form was so...engaging.” Fenris sped up to rejoin Hawke leaving Anders to gape at his back like a fish.


End file.
